The Elves' Revenge
by Snurfle
Summary: Everyone knows the story of the cobbler who had elves make shoes for him and in return he made them little clothes to keep warm. Well, things weren't as nice as they appeared to be and now the elves are back...for revenge. Please R&R.
1. The Sales Talk

A/N: You've heard of the tale about the nice old cobbler who had elves come in the middle of the night and make shoes for him and that in return the cobbler made little outfits for them? Sure you have, _everyone_ has. Well, things weren't exactly as nice as they appeared to be --is interrupted by a high voice-- _Yeah, we're those elves and we didn't get nuthin' outta that old codger, so we decided to take matters into our own hands…_ --Snurfle clears her throat pointedly-- _Ahem._ Yes, well…this is their story.

* * *

**Ch. 1: The Sales Talk  
**

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun. And anyways, it's not like he doesn't deserve it," the shadowy creature pleaded with his companion.

"But…Oh, I just don't think it's right after all we did for him," the other whined.

"That's exactly why we have to do it. We did all that for him and look how he's treated us – more leather every night! And summer's coming, meaning less time to work. You can't really think he's just a gentle old man, can you?"

"Well, no, I suppose not, not really." The creature paused, considering, "No, definitely not gentle, but he is very old."

"Old and shrivelled, a dried up old prune-face. Why, he should be thanking us after all that we've done for him," the first speaker frowned, "and just think, we, out of the kindness of our hearts, snuck in through the window and started fooling around with his scraps. Those blue ones I made got him fifty pence, and not a whit of it passed on to us, I tell you, he needs a good lesson." His eyes narrowed as he finished his tirade, "so, are you with me or not?" The second shadow opened his mouth to protest but hesitated, then consented.

"Yes, all right, I suppose it's all we can really do. Do you have a plan?" His friend snorted in derision.

"_Do you have a plan?_" He mimicked in a squeaky falsetto, "Of ­_course_ I have a plan, nitwit, it's all up here," he smirked and, with a slight misconception, tapped the side of his nose.


	2. The Plan

**Ch. 2: The Plan**

It was dark out, near midnight and heavy clouds caged the moon. An oil lamp burned fitfully on the street corner. It was foggy out and not a soul traversed the rough cobblestones – a night for skulduggery and misdeeds. In fact, such activity was to be found on the wide window ledge of the cobbler shop, well known for its fine leather shoes, particularly of late.

"Okay, so here's how it's gonna go down. I'll go in while you stick around outside on the windowsill and keep watch. You holler if anything suspicious happens –" The small creature was interrupted by the other shadow who had raised his hand. "Yes, Boucles?"

"Well, it's just that, how do I know when somethin's suspicious?" the shadowed elf asked petulantly.

"What do you mean? If something funny happens, then you call me."

"You mean so you don't miss the joke?" The first speaker stared at his friend.

"_No,_ Lead brains, I mean if something not right happens. Yeesh!" He heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Oh…and how do I know if something that's happening isn't right?" Boucles asked.

"Use your head for Grace's sake!"

"Okay, I get it now," the creature said, happy with his comprehension.

"You sure about that?" The first one said sarcastically, a fake smile plastered across his abnormal features, "Cause we wouldn't want you to be confused."

"…I thought I did, I think so…Uuummm, maybe no –"

"NO! That's enough, I'm sure you know exactly what you're doing, let's just get on with the plan," he said quickly, stopping his partner from starting a lost and confused rant about whether or not he was sure. "Like I was saying, I'll sneak to the large block at the end of the bench, I'll whistle when it's clear and then you follow me in. Got it?"

"Got it." An affirmative nod.

"Then, we'll make our way down the bench and from there climb up the bell rope to the moulding that runs around the perimeter of the room. The ledge should be wide enough to hold us if we're careful."

"What if we're not?"

"What if we're not what?" The elf asked in confusion.

"What if we're not careful?" The small creature stared at his constantly questioning companion in amazement. Then he shook his head, ignored the question and continued outlining the plan.

"Okay, so we're on the moulding. Then we scurry our little selves down the-"

"Hey! I'm not little!" Boucles cried out.

"I didn't mean little as in –" the first elf was cut off again.

"I'm very large and strong for our kind. Just look at these muscles," the elf's companion displayed his biceps proudly, strutting about in front of his friend who sighed and rolled his eyes.

"As I was saying, we scurry down the moulding and climb down to the top of the door frame. Then we scale our way down the shadowed side with the equipment you borrowed from Schnoz, you _did_ bring the equipment, right?" He asked quickly.

"Look at me, Fritz, just _look_ at me," the second creature said as he posed. "Have you ever seen such a magnificent specimen? I spent three days pumping aluminium and see what it did for me? You should try it." The first elf made fruitless gestures for his companion to pay attention. "I mean, man, think of the chicks I'll get with these babies," he paused to kiss his raised upper arm, "_Oh yeah!_ Come to papa, you handsome devil you," he said with a pout, making what he thought were seductive faces in the window glass but were more of the 'just-gotten-sucker-punched-by-my-laundry-woman-who-ran-off-with-my-boxers' variety. The first shadow, Fritz, started banging his head against the windowpane.

"AAAARRGGH!" He screamed, "Stop it! Stop it! I can't stand it anymore, _please,_ just listen to me for-" he broke off as an idea came to him. A sly smile crossed his thin lips. "You know, Boucles, the girls really like the dangerous rebels,"

"Really?" Boucles looked around from the window.

"Yeah, and you never know what'll happen to us when we get inside…" he trailed off with faked despair. "But if you didn't bring the equipment…"

"I brought the equipment," Boucles said quickly, "it's right here, see?" He held up a small brown sack that clinked promisingly.

"Excellent!" Fritz said, eyes shining with glee. "Now, we scale down the door frame with _these_," he rummaged in the bag and brought out a small metal disc that had a leather band around the back and five short spikes protruding from the other side. He slipped the leather around his hand, tightening the strap, and then slapped his hand against the wooden frame of the window. The spikes drove in easily and his hand was successfully stuck. "We slip into the mouse hole at the bottom and follow it to the kitchen where," he paused as he tugged at his hand, "where we," he tugged again but his hand remained stationary. "We will…Oh for Grace's sake!" Fritz braced a leg against the frame and heaved with all his body weight. The scaling paw, as it was called, came free with a 'pop' and the small shadow just managed to catch the edge of the sill as he tumbled backwards. Clambering back up in annoyance, he continued, "Where we will pick up some refreshments before heading," he paused dramatically, "to the bedroom," he finished with a dark grin on his oddly proportioned face; the lips and the ears were far too big and seemed to shadow the small, glittering eyes in the pale blue face.

The cool night wind whipped past, snatching his words from the air to leave silence but for the sputtering indignations of oil lamps in the vicinity. The failing light of the lamps could not reach the ledge however, leaving its occupants closely intimate with the darkness surrounding them. That darkness had grown pregnant from those words in the absence of light, preventative of such ideas ninety-eight percent of the time. It gestated in the continuing silence, growing bigger and darker and bolder. As it approached its due date, Boucles asked the question.

"…and _then_ what do we do?" Fritz let loose a high-pitched giggle that rang with malicious glee. Huddling his partner closer he lowered his voice and, like a doctor, carefully extracted the new-born idea from the shadows in which it was conceived, polishing it of grime and errors until it gleamed, a sparkle in his dark eye.


End file.
